Nothing Lasts Forever

Nothing lasts forever. 

Darcy Tanner reminded herself of this universal truth as she approached the ship that was docked at the end of the pier. With combined nervousness and excitement, she felt ready to see her life in England come to an end as she set sail for a new world, for a new life. 

After her marriage ended, her husband running off with the housemaid, and her career as an artist became overshadowed by the scandal, Darcy knew her time in England was done. Despite these hardships, Darcy felt as though the universe itself was rearranging itself for her benefit. She’d been able to arrange passage across the ocean for a great price, she’d sold numerous pieces to fund both the journey and a new home upon arrival, she’d even managed to secure private quarters on the ship. So as the ship departed and made its way out into the ocean, Darcy was filled with confidence and a certainty that everything would go her way from now on. But again, nothing lasts forever. 

The storm struck suddenly and ferociously. Rain poured in torrents so thick it blurred the lines between sky and sea. The crew could barely be heard as they tried to shout orders to one another over the bestial roar of the wind. Passengers screamed as lightning split the heavens and the ship rocked violently as wave after wave crashed into the hull. Lightning struck the mast and set the sails ablaze. Flames roared as they swept across the deck, then the sea swallowed the ship whole.

She didn’t know how she survived the inferno that devoured the ship, but Darcy, by pure instinct, dove into the ocean to escape the flames that now chewed through so many of her fellow passengers. Their screams followed her as she fell into the thrashing sea, silenced only when her head went beneath the freezing waves. Moments later, Darcy emerged from the depths and immediately felt panic take hold – her chest tightening as she gasped at the air that was almost as thick with water as the ocean itself. Her dress instantly soaked through and became heavy as rocks, threatening to drag her back beneath the surface. Certain the dress that she’d been so excited to purchase would now be the death of her, Darcy struggled to extricate herself from it. By nothing short of a miracle, she managed to squirm out of it and let it sink. Just in time for another wave to fall upon her and push her beneath the surface again. 

Fighting her way back to the surface, now in just her undergarments and already feeling the unbearable cold seeping into her skin, Darcy broke through the surface and sucked in another great lungful of air. Floating nearby, Darcy spotted another miracle. A chunk of wooden debris, barely big enough to hold a person, but within reach. Darcy clung to it with all her strength and closed her eyes tight. The rain felt like needles upon her face and the ocean clawed at her, trying to pull her into the depths again. 

Finally, after hours adrift, the storm passed. The sky calmed and the ocean smoothed, as though its fury had never been. Darcy lay upon the wooden debris, staring at the blue sky, shivering and hopeless. She prayed that another ship might happen by and rescue her, but the horizon was void of any chance of salvation. Ocean stretched in all directions as far as she could see. 

As her throat dried and her despair became fiercer, Darcy searched the horizon again, hoping against hope that she might still survive. Squinting through the sunlight that reflected like twinkling diamonds off the ocean, Darcy felt her hope renew. She gasped and sobbed as she spotted land. It was a simple speck of white sand, a tiny beach in the distance. But it was land. 

As hope revitalised her limbs, Darcy began paddling towards the beach with newfound determination to fight. The ocean would not claim her today. 

After what felt like an eternity of paddling, Darcy reached the shore. Her feet found sand beneath the water and she staggered out of the sea, collapsing to her hands and knees as she made landfall. She left the ocean behind and hung her head in relief, almost laughing, but too exhausted to do more than chuckle. Darcy weakly dragged herself up the beach, her brown hair matted, sand clinging to her clothes and hands as she crawled. Breathing a sigh of relief, Darcy looked around at her surroundings. She immediately felt the hope she had found drain away. 

She was on an island, no more than five acres, and empty. No trees, no hills, no food, no water. Just an empty field of white sand, like an untouched canvas.

Darcy stared at the scene before her in dread. This was not salvation. It was just a different way to die. She may have a few extra days now that she was out of the ocean, but the end would be the same. With no food, water, or even shelter, she only had a few days to survive.

As she began to understand the hopelessness of her dilemma, she noticed something shimmering in the centre of the island. Praying that it was something helpful - though what could help her now, she had no idea - she hurried towards it as quickly as her exhausted legs would carry her. To her surprise, she found a simple glass sphere, half-buried. It glinted in the sunlight as she approached. 

Confused by the presence of the crystal ball, she knelt down to examine it more closely. It seemed unremarkable. There was no intricate detail to it, it didn’t look valuable, and yet…

The ball was pristine. Darcy peered closer upon realising that it was completely undamaged or marked by weather. It gleamed as though it had been freshly polished to a high shine. Curious, she wondered if perhaps someone could have dropped the ball, someone who had been here recently or was otherwise hidden somehow. Darcy picked the crystal ball up to inspect it more closely. As she stared into its depths, she thought she could see faint outlines moving inside. Ethereal wisps of cloud, shifting and moving and twisting around each other.

Darcy sat down in the sand, examining the crystal ball in both hands, turning it over as if expecting to see something new. But the faint images inside continued to swirl, trying to coalesce but unable to take shape. 

It was the strangest object she’d ever seen. If she wasn’t also wrestling with her impending demise, she might have given it more thought, but instead Darcy began to absent-mindedly draw in the sand, wishing she’d never left England. That she was back home with her canvases, making new art, rebuilding the life that her husband had dismantled around her. She drew a simple pine tree, wishing she had been brave enough to stay instead of run away. 

The ground suddenly began to shake. Darcy gasped, scrambling back as a pine tree erupted from the sand. Darcy stared up at it with her mouth agape, taking in the sight of the inexplicable appearance. 

Darcy looked down at the crystal ball again and saw that the shapeless image within had become clearer, though she still couldn’t make it out. As she peered closer though, it almost looked like a pine tree. 

In shock, Darcy dropped the crystal ball as if it had burned her, the object thudding into the sand with a soft thwump. The instant that the crystal ball left her grasp, the pine tree turned into sand and collapsed back into the island. 

Darcy stared at the ball, wondering if she had lost her mind, but the ball continued to show swirling formless objects within. Darcy felt as if it was calling to her. A wordless feeling that came not from her own desires, but the same as when inspiration to create new art would strike. It wanted her to create again. 

Almost without realising it, Darcy kneeled and gently took the crystal ball up in her left hand. With her right hand, she started to trace something in the sand, keeping her eyes on the images inside the ball. Without looking, she traced the image of a pond, thinking about how thirsty she was. 

In an instant, the island opened and a pond emerged, taking shape before her eyes. Sand rose out of the island like growing plants, but impossibly fast. Sand rose up high, hardened, and became palm trees, while more levelled out and turned clear, becoming perfect sparkling water. 

Darcy approached the small oasis cautiously, then cupped one hand into the water and hesitantly brought the liquid to her lips. It was fresh and cool, soothing her throat in an instant. Eager to drink her fill, Darcy set the crystal ball aside and started lowering her hands to the water once more, but as she let go, the pond shuddered and collapsed into sand. The trees, the water, all gone in an instant.

Realisation dawned on Darcy, and she snatched the crystal ball up again. She sketched a pitcher of water this time, and it immediately appeared in front of her, taking shape from the sand itself. Making sure to keep the crystal ball in her hand, Darcy drank from the pitcher until her thirst was quenched. It tasted perfect, and was even cool as though it had been on ice. 

Laughing in disbelief, Darcy looked at the crystal ball again and saw the shapeless images inside beginning to take on a more tangible form, though it was still impossible to make out. Amazed, Darcy began making more drawings in the sand. She made trees for shade, a cabin - complete with a bed and fireplace - hills and birds, all the while feeling the same sense of satisfaction she got from completing a piece of art, but it felt external to her own emotions. As though the ball itself was pleased with her creations. She felt like it wanted more. So she kept creating. She created more and more; the crystal ball gripped firmly in her hand, filling the white sand with life like she was painting a canvas. 

Darcy created animals, butterflies, dry and fancy clothing, comfortable furniture, a cozy campfire, and countless other items. But as she was drawing an apple orchard into the sand, she paused. She didn’t remember deciding to draw this. 

Darcy looked down at the crystal ball and peered into its depths. Inside, the smoky mist seemed to have taken on the shape of an apple orchard. Darcy frowned in confusion as she examined it. Did the ball reflect what she created? Or was it telling her what to create. 

As she considered this, Darcy noticed another imagine within the ball, separate from the orchard, almost impossible to see. As though it was a hidden sketch beneath a layer of paint. Holding the ball up to her eyes, just beyond the tip of her nose, Darcy strained to see the second image.

Her eyes shot wide, and she uttered a choked gasp. The second image was of a woman. It was her. The ball had manifested an image of her. It was only then that Darcy noticed something wrong with her hands. 

Darcy’s mouth fell open in a silent scream. Her hands were ghostly and transparent. Even as she watched, her arms also began to fade. She felt a cold numbness beginning to crawl up her forearms, over her elbows, and up to her shoulders. It felt like slowly submerging into a bath of cold water. And the more she felt herself fading, the clearer the image of her within the ball became.

She tried to drop the crystal ball, but found she was no longer able to unclench her hand. Her fingers were wrapped tightly around the glass and no matter how hard she tried, even wrestling against it with her free hand, she was unable to let go. 

Breathing fast, Darcy fell to her knees and desperately began sketching herself in the sand, hoping that she could regain what she’d lost. But before she could finish the sketch, she felt a powerful surge of disappointment. Just like the alien satisfaction she had felt when creating everything else, this intense frustration and loathing felt removed from her. Like she was feeling emotions not her own.

Without meaning to, without thinking to act, she cried out in frustration and swept her hand across the sketch in the sand, scattering the unfinished image to the wind. Confused, distraught, Darcy began drawing herself again, only for the same intense feeling of frustration to overwhelm her body and she destroyed the image once again. Darcy sobbed as she realised the crystal ball was rejecting her creation. The feeling was not her own, it was the ball’s. It wasn’t letting her reclaim herself. 

Desperate and panicking, Darcy clawed at the sand, trying to redraw herself again and again, but the intense and primal frustration overtook her each time, forcing her hand to move against her will and destroy the image before it was completed. She opened her mouth to scream - and the sound cut short as she vanished.

The crystal ball landed in the sand with a dull thud. The creations sank back into the sand until the island became a blank canvas once more. All that remained - a crystal ball, half buried, and the distinct image of a woman inside, screaming silently as she pounded her fists against the glass.

Nothing lasts forever.